After the Fault
by pteradactyl
Summary: What happens after Fault? I haven't watched all the episodes so I don't actually know, but I hope this is an interesting possibility...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I didn't invent any of these characters and I bow to the God of the Great Dick Wolf.

Please review this, even if you just say "Bleh." I'm new to fan fic and very insecure.

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Olivia knocked impatiently on the door, angry at herself for being there in the first place. It didn't help that no one answered. She knocked again and was about to leave when she heard several locks tumbling, and the door finally opened.

"Thanks for coming," Elliot said, staring at the wall about six inches to the right of Olivia's head. "Come in," he added, which she didn't.

"You're blocking the doorway," Olivia said, half angry and half concerned. She'd known Elliot to enjoy an occasional beer before, but his breath smelled as if he'd been at a bar all day.

Elliot moved aside. Olivia hoped he'd sway a bit, but she had to admit that he didn't seem particularly drunk. He looked more frightening than impaired. He didn't have enough hair for it to be disheveled, but somehow his entire face looked slightly out of whack. His clothes were a total mess for Elliot standards; button-down shirt open at the collar, no tie, and unevenly tucked in. She hated to admit it, but she was worried.

"Do you mind talking outside?" Elliot asked, locking his door and walking toward a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. "I try to spend as little time inside as possible." Olivia followed him up a dark flight of stairs, lit by a single uncovered bulb. She'd visited Elliot and Kathy countless times over the years, and it hurt her to see her partner living like this. Olivia's shoes stuck to the steps in places. But when they got to the roof and went outside, the rickety walk was worth it. Elliot might live in a dump, Olivia thought, but the view of the city is fantastic. It was starting to get dark out and the lights looked like surreal Christmas decorations.

"I spend a lot of time out here," Elliot said, pulling over a beat-up lawn chair. "Nicer view than inside." He lifted a ratty cushion from the chair, shook it off, and put it back down, motioning for Olivia to sit.

"I'd rather stand," she said.

"Listen," Elliot started. He'd rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in his head, and realized that there was no way he could possibly say what he really meant, let alone make up for damage done. He kicked a pebble on the roof and forced himself to look Olivia in the eyes. It was easier outside, in the fading light. "I was an asshole yesterday. I was angry. It came out all wrong," he said, knowing that it was coming out wrong again.

"You're right. You were an asshole. I don't care if you were angry, and I think your message came out loud and clear. The only reason I'm here now is that I'd hate to see seven years of partnership end on such a sour note, so I thought I'd give you the chance to apologize," Olivia said, her voice rising as she spoke.

Elliot fought the urge to butt in with a "Hey! You've got some apologizing to do, too," and managed to hold his temper. This is how you got in trouble in the first place, he thought.

"Here's how I see it," Elliot said, taking a swig from the beer in his hand, annoyed that there were only a few drops left. He set it on the edge of the roof wall behind him, and leaned back against the ledge. "We both took an oath to serve and protect. We both broke that oath yesterday, and—"

"Like Hell I did!" Olivia shouted, starting to get up from the chair.

"Ok, ok. _I_ broke that oath yesterday and it scared the shit out of me. A little boy died because I was scared of losing you. I don't know if I can do my job if it means having to decide between protecting you and little kids." He looked away, scanning the view from the rooftop. "You're all I've got," he added, barely audibly.

"I'd be in just as much danger if I were someone else's partner," Olivia said. "Even more, if they wouldn't look out for me," she added, still seething.

Elliott turned around, put his hands on the ledge, and leaned over. It barely reached halfway up his thighs, and most of his tall body cantilevered over the building.

"Elliot!" Olivia shouted, running over to him despite her anger. "Watch out! That looks dangerous."

Elliot's shoulder froze where Olivia touched it. Damn it, he thought. All he really wanted to do was turn around and grab her into his arms, but his body was apparently sending its off back-off signals without his permission. He half-heartedly wished that she'd accidentally jostle him and he'd lose his balance and fall. Not that he'd ever wish that guilt on Olivia, and of course suicide was a sin. But death by misadventure… Stop it, he told himself again. This isn't why you asked her here.

Elliot turned around and faced Olivia. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was scared. I was angry. I took it out on you. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. Totally mine. I've fucked this up just the way I've fucked things up with Kathy and the kids and every other goddamn person I've ever cared about." He broke eye contact, picked up his empty beer bottle and just managed to stop himself from smashing it on the ground and covering his own rooftop with shards of glass. "It's getting cold out," he said, instinctively draping his free arm around Olivia. She didn't shove him away as they walked back downstairs to his apartment.

The front door opened onto a small kitchen/dining room. Olivia sat down on a ripped vinyl chair next to a Formica table, brushing off the seat first and surprising herself at finding it clean.

Elliot opened the fridge and took out another beer. "Want one?" he asked, opening his with his pocket knife.

"Sure," Olivia answered, "especially because there doesn't seem to be much else in there. Do you always drink this much now that you and Kathy have split up?"

"Only when my partner wants to split up too," Elliot answered, handing her a beer. They drank in non-companionable silence. "I have some crackers and cheese if you want some," Elliot said.

"Actually I've starving," Olivia answered, quickly followed by, "nevermind," as a cockroach ran out of the cupboard door.

"You try paying for mortgage and four daughters and rent on a cop's salary," Elliot snapped, immediately regretting it.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm sorry," Olivia said. "I mean it. I'm sorry you have to live…" She stopped, afraid of insulting her partner. Her ex-partner. How did things suddenly get so complicated? she thought.

"In a cockroach-infested dump," Elliot finished for her. They met each others' eyes, and smiled for the first time. "I've got some bread behind the beer," he said, opening the fridge again. "Don't worry, bought it yesterday around the corner. Panne. It's good." He took a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese out of the refrigerator, looked around, then put them back when he realized there was no place else to put them. He opened several cupboards until he found a single plate, which he washed, dried with paper towels, and set on the kitchen table. By now he'd finished his beer, so he set the empty bottle in the sink, along with quite a few others, opened the fridge again, and put the bread and cheese on the plate. He got himself another beer and asked Olivia if she'd like one.

"Why not?" she asked.

Elliot set the beers on the table and sat in the only other chair. He opened the beers with his pocket knife again, got up and wiped it on a paper towel, and used it to cut up several slices of cheese. Olivia wondered if that knife was the only kitchen utensil he owned. She tried to stay angry at him, but he looked so dejected. She began to have a better idea of why he'd been so short-tempered lately. And he _did_ apologize, she reminded herself. She took a small bite of bread and cheese. It was actually good. Maybe I _am_ underestimating him, she thought.

"So," Elliot said, taking a gulp of beer.

"So," Olivia answered, a small smile returning to her face. Damn it, she thought. He doesn't seem slightly phased and he must have drunk a six-pack by now, and I'm getting giddy on one and a half beers. Or relief? a small voice said in her head. Or something else?

---to be continued sometime soon, with the more mature part included---

---to be continued sometime soon, with the more mature part included---

4


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: This chapter really should be rated MA, but I can't figure out how to change the rating to MA. It seems I can only downgrade the rating, not upgrade it. So anyhow, please consider this story MA and don't read it if you're not prepared for graphic sex and violence.

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"Are we still partners?" Elliot asked, looking at Olivia with his patented blank expression.

"I don't know, are we?" Olivia asked.

"Because if we are, I'm not sure I should be doing this," Elliot said, unfolding his arms from across his chest and reaching over the table to rest his hand on Olivia's. He wanted to lift her hand to his face and place it over his eyes, blocking out all thought and leaving room only for sensory input. But even a six-pack couldn't make him do that. In fact, his hand was shaking slightly. He stared into Olivia's eyes and waited for something to happen.

Nothing did. Olivia sat across from him as if she were a statue, not moving her hand, either to embrace his or to shake it off.

Ok, asshole, Elliot told himself. You screwed up. Again. He started to take his hand away, when Olivia surprised him by putting her other hand on top of his.

"Don't," she said, confusing Elliot completely. "Don't take your hand away." She paused for a moment. "I need it."

They sat that way, staring at each other for what seemed like forever. Elliot felt more awkward than he had before his first kiss, back at Catholic school. So much more was at stake now, and he had no idea which direction was right or wrong. His mind was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so he concentrated on letting it go blank and just feeling Olivia's hands surrounding his own. He leaned forward over the tiny table and very gently brushed Olivia's cheek, barely making contact.

"Crumb," he mumbled, one side of his mouth turning slightly upward.

Olivia blushed, her dark brown eyes seeming to melt.

"Is this totally insane?" Olivia asked, grasping Elliot's hand tightly.

"Probably," Elliot answered, moving his finger to brush against his partner's lips.

"Another crumb?" Olivia asked.

Elliot actually smiled, for the first time in what felt like centuries. He was no longer worried about right or wrong; his mind had disappeared into someplace totally inaccessible. He'd forgotten what desire felt like, and his body was making up for lost time. He seemed to materialize next to Olivia's chair in one fluid motion. She rose to meet him as he bent down toward her. Elliot started to stroke her breast through her shirt as they kissed, then grabbed it, hard. Olivia moaned and pulled him closer, although Elliot wasn't sure he could have stopped even if she'd pushed him away. He half carried her into the bedroom and onto his spare but neatly made bed. Within seconds he was fumbling impatiently at the buttons on her blouse, needing to feel her nipple against her skin.

"Take it easy," Olivia said. "You'll rip the buttons."

"Fuck the buttons," Elliot muttered, breathing heavily as he ripped the shirt open and pulled her breast out of her bra. He pinched her nipple, hard, reaching for her pants at the same time. The zipper gave him far less trouble than the buttons. He'd hardly finished pushing her pants and underwear down past her knees before he took of his own and slid inside her, grabbing the one exposed breast and biting her neck.

"Elliot! Stop! You're hurting me!" Olivia screamed. She was wet and panting herself, but she felt as if both her body and her partner were betraying her. This was not what she'd imagined, not by a long shot.

Elliot ignored her and moved faster and faster, plunging deeper and deeper into her. He didn't even register the taste of blood in his mouth as he lost control and broke the skin of Olivia's neck when he climaxed. His entire body was shaking, partly from his orgasm, but partly from something much more primal. And frightening. He lay panting on top of Olivia, unaware of anything at all, until she pushed him off and sat up, crying.

"You fucking bastard," she said, between sobs. "I can't believe it. You of all people..." she broke down, crying too hard to continue. Elliot sat up and tried to put an arm around her, but she shoved him away. "Don't touch me! Ever again. Though maybe I should be thanking you," she snarled. "Now I know how my mother felt."

Elliot's jaw literally dropped open. "What the Hell are you talking about? Maybe I was a little rough, but you wanted it just as much as I did!" he shouted.

"I wanted my shirt ripped off? I wanted you to hurt me? I wanted you to ignore me when I told you to stop? Stop means stop, asshole," she said, frighteningly composed.

Elliot's thought process finally returned, and he wished like Hell it hadn't. She's right, he thought, dazed, as he silently watched the woman he loved get up, turn her back on him, and pull a torn shirt around herself. What the fuck is the matter with me? I just raped Olivia. I'm one of the sick pricks I've spent ten years putting away. He sat up on the bed, rested his head in his hands, and sobbed. He couldn't bring himself to look up, and he was sure if he did, she'd be gone.

The slam of the front door confirmed the worst. Elliot got up and pulled up his pants, and then just stood there, shaken, unsure what to do next. It suddenly occurred to him that not only had he just lost his partner and any chance for anything more, but he'd lost his job, as well. Olivia had probably already called in the rape. Fuck. A couple of unis would probably show up at his door any minute now. Hell, he'd lost more than his job. He'd lost his fucking freedom. Elliot's self-hatred turned into rage. He picked up the bedside lamp, yanked it free from the outlet, and threw it across the room. The crash wasn't nearly satisfying enough, so he picked up the bedside table and threw it across the room, too. It was heavy and well made, and simply bounced and fell over on its side, unscathed.

"Shit!" Elliot shouted. He turned around and smashed his right fist through the bedroom window. It felt good, so good that he smashed his other fist through the remaining shards of glass. Breaking the window had been pretty clean, but hitting the shards hurt like hell. It felt like a thousand pieces of glass were embedded in his left hand. Elliot relished the pain. God knows he deserved it. He deserved more. He walked toward the kitchen, trailing blood like a crime scene behind him, intent on smashing the kitchen window, too. But his head and feet wouldn't cooperate. His vision started to disappear, and something was ringing very loudly in his ears. All thoughts faded away as his knees gave out and he fell, head first, on the tiled kitchen floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Elliot woke up with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. The lights were so bright he felt like he was in a dentist's chair, but he was lying flat on his back. He turned his head to try to see where he was and immediately stopped; the pain was like lightning hitting his skull. He looked around as much as possible without moving, and concluded that he was in a hospital. Judging from the number of wires attached to him and the curtains he could just make out in his peripheral vision, he figured he must be in the ER, maybe the ICU.

Ok, he thought. I have no idea why I'm here, but at least I know where here is. He'd been in hospitals plenty of times before, for work-related injuries, so he reached around for the nurse's call button. He knew it could take a good hour for him to get a response, but it was better than just lying there. His right hand seemed very clumsy, so he tried using his left. Another streak of pain shot through his hand, subsiding into a loud throbbing pain. What the hell? he thought. What happened? He was beginning to feel trapped. Elliot was used to being in control, and he hated being stuck in a bed, unable to move without extreme pain, with no idea why he was there.

Damn the pain, he thought. I need answers. He used his clumsy right hand to feel around for the call button again. He realized in the process that the clumsiness was due to the fact that most of the hand was bandaged, with only a few fingertips protruding. Elliot finally managed to press a button, which made the top of the bed jerk up, causing him to scream out in pain. A young woman dressed in colorful scrubs appeared almost immediately. She didn't have a white jacket, so Elliot assumed she was a nurse.

"You're awake! Congratulations. We were worried about you. I'm Andy, one of your nurses."

One of? Elliot thought. How many nurses do I need?

As if reading his mind, Andy said "You're in the ICU. We've had nurses and doctors checking in on you every few hours for the past four days."

"Four days?" Elliot asked, bewildered. "Why was I here for four days?"

"I'll have to get a doctor to talk to you about that," Andy replied.

Protocol, Elliot thought, with a sigh. He was used to being on the other end of withholding information, and he began to feel some sympathy for the victims he had to keep on tenterhooks. Victims. Suddenly Olivia popped into his mind. That's weird, he thought. Oh shit. Were we out on a case and got hurt? Is Olivia ok? He started to panic.

"Wait!" he shouted at Andy, who was halfway down the corridor. "Was my partner brought in too?"

"Who?" Andy asked, returning to Elliot's room.

"My partner. Olivia Benson. Was she hurt, too?"

"There's no Olivia Benson in the ICU right now," Andy said, checking her charts. "I was on duty the night we brought you in. Maybe I saw her. What does she look like?"

"Five seven and a half, 120 pounds, short dark hair, brown eyes,--"

"Oh, her. I should have remembered. She told me her name was Olivia. She's been here to visit you every day. Makes sense, if she's your girlfriend."

Elliot cringed. "No, I'm a cop. She's my partner. I think. At least she used to be. I'm not sure." He paused for a moment, confused. "I'm getting a really bad headache," he said.

"Sorry. We can't give painkillers to patients who've had head trauma," Andy replied. "But--"

"I don't want painkillers," Elliot cut in rudely. "I just want some peace and quiet."

"Ok, then, I'll dim the bed lights for you, though I can't guarantee much peace and quiet in the ICU," Andy said calmly, taking Elliot's anger in stride. "Try to get some rest," she said, as she left.

Talking about Olivia had begun to trigger Elliot's memory. He wished it hadn't. He envied patients with concussions who had no memory of the entire day leading up to their loss of consciousness. Suddenly Elliot remembered the day of his concussion all too clearly. Every excruciating detail. The only part he couldn't figure out was why Olivia had been coming to see him. To make sure he didn't wake up and escape? That's ridiculous, he thought. That's what unis are for. Which made him realize that he hadn't seen any cops guarding him. But given that he couldn't turn his head without extreme pain, that didn't mean that there weren't any standing right outside in the hall. He felt humiliated, and frustrated at being so helpless. Yet those feelings were mere irritations; emotional mosquito bites. The self-hatred and remorse for what he'd done to Olivia burned much more painfully than his hand or his head.

Elliott wondered if the rapists and murderers he'd help put on death row felt the same way. He used to fantasize about killing them. Now what was he supposed to do? Fantasize about killing himself? That's insane, he thought. I'm losing it. It must be the concussion. In a sense, he was losing it. All the talking and thinking had exhausted him. He closed his eyes and was slipping back to sleep when someone walked in.

Elliot heard the footsteps and thought if that's that damn nurse Andy again I'm going to take a swing at her. He opened his eyes grudgingly and opened them much wider when he saw Olivia looking down at him. His already pale face turned almost white, and he felt as if he was going to pass out again. Get a grip, he thought, and forced himself to meet her gaze.

"Thank God you're awake," said Olivia, sitting down on the tiny metal and plastic chair squeezed between the bed and the curtain. "We've been so worried about you."

Elliot left the "we" for later and concentrated on Olivia. "I'd think you'd be disappointed, considering," he said. "I didn't think you'd want to see my face any time soon after, after what happened. What I did," he said, trying to take responsibility. "The nurse said you've been coming to see me. Why?"

"Because I've been worried about you, why do you think?" Olivia answered, sounding annoyed.

"Worried I'd escape? Because believe me, I'm in no condition to even get out of bed."

Olivia sighed. "I didn't call in the rape," she said quietly.

"You didn't?" he replied, genuinely baffled. "Why not?"

"I was going to, but I was so upset when I left your apartment, I forgot my purse. I started to call John from Starbucks when I realized that my phone and purse were still at your place. I used the phone at Starbucks, and, well, the truth is, I just couldn't bring myself to tell him what happened. It seemed too personal. I told John that we'd had a fight and I was afraid to go back to get my purse alone. He met me at Starbucks, your door was unlocked, and we found you passed out on the kitchen floor. There was so much blood." Her voice started to tremble. "At that point all I could think about was getting you to a hospital. I didn't know the blood was from your hands, though I should have figured it out. It was freezing in there."

"Hey, you were upset," Elliot said, falling into his natural role of comforting his partner. His ex-partner.

"At any rate, you'd lost a lot of blood, in addition to being unconscious, and it was touch and go for a couple of hours. We were all here, you know. Fin, Cragen, everyone. Despite what an asshole you are, we care about you. Do you know that?"

"I can see why the others care about me. They don't know. But you? Why do you give a damn whether I live or die?"

Olivia sighed again. "It's not that simple," she said. "I've spent four days worrying that you would die or end up in a coma forever. The doctors had no idea if or when you'd come out of it. That kind of thing tends to make you think. If you'd died because of me—"

"I'd have deserved it," Elliot cut in.

"Elliott, it's not that simple," Olivia repeated. "God. You'd think you're colorblind, the way you always think in black and white. It's not like I wasn't sending mixed signals."

"Don't give me that sympathetic victim bullshit. You deserve better and you know it. I was a complete asshole."

A woman wearing a white coat walked into the room and gave Elliot a stern look. "You just woke up from a coma," she said. "You shouldn't be arguing," she added, looking pointedly at Olivia.

"It's not her fault," Elliot said.

"Regardless. I need some time with the patient, if you don't mind," the doctor continued, glaring at Olivia.

What's her problem, Elliot thought, followed by panic that he wouldn't get a chance to talk to Olivia again. "Come back," he said, looking into her unfathomable brown eyes. He looked away and added, "I need to talk to you."

"Don't worry, I'll be back," Olivia said, in an oblique tone of voice that Elliot hoped wasn't meant as a threat.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're a very lucky man," said Dr. White, after she finished examining Elliot's hands. 

Elliot stared at the doctor impassively. He didn't feel particularly lucky. He didn't know which hurt more; his hands, or the memory of the conversation with Olivia.

"The damage to your right hand is minimal," Dr. White continued. "You could have severed an artery, you know."

"I know that," Elliot answered, his voice rising. "I'm a cop. I work rape cases. I've seen my share of severed arteries."

Dr. White glared at him and resumed. "However, we removed seventeen pieces of glass from your left hand. The antibiotics should ward off infection, but you might not regain full use of the hand. Are you right-handed?" she asked.

Elliot nodded. He felt like punching her in the face to prove it.

"Again, you're a very lucky man. A nurse will be by shortly to bandage your hands. Meanwhile try not to move them. We'll need to keep you here overnight for IV antibiotics, and then you'll probably be set to go, as far as we're concerned."

"What do you mean, we?"

"We always call for a psychiatric consult when self-mutilation is involved."

"What??!" Elliot nearly shouted.

"You presented with several large gashes in one hand and seventeen pieces of glass in the other. All wounds were self-inflicted."

"That wasn't self-mutilation! I was angry. I smashed a window because I was angry. I'm not some fucking teenager who cuts herself. I don't need to see a shrink!" Elliot yelled.

"You can discuss that during your psychiatric consult," the doctor said over her shoulder as she left.

Elliot started to get out of bed and get dressed. He wasn't about to wait around for any "psychiatric consult." Then he realized he was still hooked up to an IV and several monitors, which would probably beep if he ripped them off. That would certainly warrant a psychiatric consult, he thought. Can this day get any worse? he asked himself. He got his answer when he saw Nurse Andy coming to bandage his hands again.

o o o o o o o

Elliot was exhausted from being woken up every four hours to have his vital signs checked, only to be told that it was important for him to try to go back to sleep to get some rest. Olivia hadn't showed up all day. And to make matters worse, his roommate insisted on watching re-runs of TV cop shows. The curtain between them was drawn for "privacy," but he could hear every breath the man took, and of course the giant television was both audible and visible. The mistakes the writers made were so annoying he was tempted to shut off the TV with his own remote, but his roommate had called the nurse for painkillers so often that Elliot felt sorry for him.

Elliot was still hooked up to an IV and monitors, and he had pretty much given up on escaping AMA. He'd done enough damage in the past week or so. He didn't want to do any more. So he stared at the TV set, arms folded belligerently against his chest, counting off every mistake every character made.

Someone actually knocked on the open door, a first during his hospital stay. Elliot looked up, and a short, older man with a ring of frizzy white hair and a white coat looked up from his chart and asked "Elliot?"

"Yep," Elliot replied shortly.

"Hi. I'm Doctor Freeman. Mind if I take a seat?"

Yes, Elliot thought, but he nodded, tightening his arms around his chest. The bandages on his hands were smaller now, and the pain was tolerable if remembered not to pay attention to it.

"I'm here to ask you a few questions," Dr. Freeman said.

"Right. You're here to see the 'self-mutilator,' Elliot snarled, immediately regretting it. He'd already decided that playing good cop was the best way to get out of this situation. He refused to think about what would happen if he didn't get out of it.

"I gather you don't like that term," Dr. Freeman replied calmly.

"Damn right. I've been a detective for the Special Victims Unit for almost twenty years. Know what that is?" he asked contentiously.

"I do," replied Dr. Freeman.

"Well then you'll know that I've seen plenty of real self-mutilation, caused by real sick abuse. You can see for yourself that I'm hardly a regular cutter. I'm wearing a damned hospital johnny. See any cuts other than my hands?" he asked.

"No one is implying that you're a cutter. We're merely concerned that you caused very serious damage to yourself last week, and we don't want to see it happen again."

Elliot took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Believe me, it's not going to happen again. I didn't smash my bedroom window because I wanted to fuck up my hands. Sorry. I meant that I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I was angry, very angry. I even picked up a lamp and threw it across the room first. I didn't even think about it. I just smashed my fist through the window because I was so furious at myself for having practically ra--" Shit! Elliot thought. Am I trying to get myself committed?

"Raised a hand toward my partner in anger," he continued, saying the first thing that popped into his head. Jesus. I sound like I'm teaching Sunday School, he thought. "I've never done anything like that before," he added. "When I heard the front door slam, I kind of lost it."

Dr. Freeman nodded.

Elliot stifled a sigh of relief. I can't believe he bought it, he thought.

"Everyone feels anger toward their loved ones from time to time. The important thing is you didn't act on it," the doctor said.

Elliot managed a nod. It was hard to keep from literally shaking with relief. He'd pulled it off.

Dr. Freeman looked through his notes. "You suffered a concussion and were unconscious for four days. That's pretty serious trauma to the brain."

I know, I know, Elliot thought, but kept his mouth shut.

"I need to ask you a couple of questions now. Who's the President of the United States?"

Elliot looked puzzled. Is this a trick question? he thought. They asked me that yesterday. "George W. Bush, Jr.," he replied.

"Good. What's the current date?"

Elliot groaned. Last time they'd only asked him for the month and year. "Uh, yesterday they said I'd been taken to ICU four days ago. Four days ago was Thursday." A really bad Thursday, he couldn't help thinking. Probably the worst Thursday in his life. "April 6th, 2006. It's been five days, so that makes it, uh, Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday. Monday, April 11th, 2006." He felt stupid about counting the days, but his head did still feel a little fuzzy. Not that he was about to let the doctor know.

"Very good. Normally I'd ask you to draw a circle for me, but I think we can make allowances for that," Dr. Freeman said, smiling.

He's smiling, Elliot thought. This must be almost over.

"Now we need to talk about your anger. Has anger ever been a problem with you in the past?"

Elliot thought about the time he'd almost lost his job for telling a department shrink he'd fantasized about killing perps. He thought of all the times he'd been reprimanded for getting too rough on suspects, especially in the interrogation room. Then he thought of his arrest rate. Everything's relative.

"Not really," he answered.

"Do you feel like you could benefit from talking to someone about how to cope with your anger? We have some very good counselors here and an excellent anger management program."

"No thanks. I can always talk to Dr. Huang if I need to," Elliot said. If I'm bound and tortured, he thought to himself. "He's our precinct sh—psychiatrist. He mostly helps us evaluate suspects, but we can talk to him if we need to," Elliot finished, hoping the doctor hadn't heard his slip of the tongue.

"Well, it seems to me like there's no need to send you over to Bellevue," said Dr. Freeman. "Your physician has already signed your medical release papers. I'll just add my signature and you're free to go."

Elliot had stopped listening at the word "Bellevue." Rationally, he knew that even if he were sent there, he wouldn't be in the prison ward, but he'd seen what it was like and had no desire to ever be on the inside of anywhere remotely similar.

"I assumed the news would make you happy," Dr. Freeman said.

"Sorry," Elliot said with a start. "I was just thinking about Bellevue."

"Not a very nice place," Dr. Freeman agreed, seeming to read Elliot's mind. "We do our best."

"I'm sure you do," Elliot replied without really thinking about it.

"All right, then," said Dr. Freeman, extending his hand. Elliot shook it automatically, then winced with pain. The doctor was left-handed.

"Sorry about that," Dr. Freeman said as he left the room. Elliot nodded in return.

As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Elliot fell back on the bed and began to shake. He hadn't realized just how terrified he'd been of being sent to Bellevue. He also hadn't realized how much pain he was going to be in once he left the hospital. It was going to be hard to hide from Cragen, but he'd go nuts if he sat around his apartment thinking about Olivia. He desperately wanted to get back to work, to immerse himself in trying to solve other people's problems and forget about his own. He closed his eyes and put his right arm over them, hoping the nurse would hurry up and disconnect him so he could get out of there. He'd just begun to calm down when he heard the nurse walk into the room. That was quick, he thought, as he opened his eyes and saw Olivia.

"I need to talk to you," she said, without asking how he was feeling or commenting on how much better he looked. Her tone of voice frightened Elliot. Maybe she's decided to press charges after all, he thought.

"Talk," he said, acutely conscious of his roommate and the possibility that a nurse might walk in on them any minute.

"Not here. Is there someplace private we can go?" she asked.

"Olivia, I'm hooked up to about five machines. I can't even go to the bathroom without a nurse."

Olivia doesn't make mistakes like this, Elliot thought. He began to feel worried for her instead of himself. He noticed her face was pale, and saw tiny drops of sweat on her forehead.

"Do you know when you're getting released?" Olivia asked.

"Actually, I can leave as soon as someone takes all this stuff off of me," he answered.

"How soon?"

Elliot was really starting to feel frightened. It was totally unlike Olivia to be so self-centered and oblivious. Something was definitely wrong.

"I don't know, Liv," he said, automatically calling her by the name he used when he was worried about her. He waited for her to complain, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, would you mind waiting outside?" asked a young man in scrubs holding a sheaf of papers. "I've got to get him ready for discharge."

"I'll meet you in the lobby," Olivia said, and left abruptly, without saying goodbye.

Elliot barely noticed as the nurse yanked out his IV and pulled off his monitors. He took his discharge papers without looking at them, and signed where he was told. He skipped a shower, although he smelled bad even to himself, and put on the same bloody clothes he'd worn when he'd arrived at the hospital. Getting dressed hurt like hell, but he was in too much of a rush to worry about it. He finally gave up on buttoning his shirt and tucked it in unbuttoned, zipped up his jacket, and started to run out the door.

"Hold on," someone called out to him. "You have to leave in a wheelchair. Hospital policy."

"Can't," said Elliot, reaching in his jacket pocket and flashing his badge. It was blind luck that he happened to have left it in that particular jacket pocket, but he would have flashed his library card if he had to. He ran past the protesting hospital staff and shoved his way into a closing elevator, heading down to the lobby, to Olivia.


	5. Chapter 5

Elliot found Olivia sitting on a bench in the lobby by the front door, staring into her lap. Her eyes looked red, as if she'd been crying.

"What's wrong, Liv?"

"I don't want to talk about it here. Let's go."

They walked silently to the garage. Olivia unlocked her car without a word, got in, and waited for Elliot to get settled in the passenger seat. The car was cold and dark and smelled of the garage, but it was private.

"I'm pregnant," Olivia said quietly, without affect.

"What?!" Elliot shouted, his voice reverberating in the small car.

"I'm pregnant," Olivia repeated, in the same disquieting tone of voice.

"That's impossible. It's only been five days. It takes weeks to know if you're pregnant." He was really worried about Olivia now. He was afraid what he'd done had sent her over the edge, and she was becoming delusional. "How could you possibly know so soon?" he asked.

"I took a test. I'm pregnant."

Elliot wondered if his concussion had actually caused some minor brain damage. He couldn't seem to make sense out of what Olivia was saying.

"Kathy had to wait at least two weeks for those tests to work, sometimes longer," he said.

Olivia looked up at him with an inscrutable expression.

"There are early pregnancy tests now. The box said it was accurate after six to ten days."

"But it's only been five days," Elliot protested.

"My body isn't a digital alarm clock," Olivia said, clearly annoyed. For once, Elliot was glad his partner was angry at him. At least she was capable of showing emotion. "Maybe my hormones are particularly strong. I don't know. I bought the test on the way home from work and followed the instruction. Carefully," she said, emphasizing the last word and glaring at Elliot as if she expected him to challenge her. "It came out positive. The instructions said that false negatives are common if you take the test too early, but false positives happen only if you don't do the test right, and I do things right," she finished, sounding defensive.

"Ok, I believe you." Elliot's head was swimming. Suddenly Bellevue didn't seem like such a bad idea. "You're certain it's mine? Because that might explain the positive--"

Olivia turned toward Elliot and slapped his face. Hard.

"How dare you say that?" she seethed. "First you come on to me and rape me, then you suggest I've been sleeping around in the past few weeks! What the hell is the matter with you?" Olivia started shaking and crying.

Elliot took a deep breath and sat back as far as possible in the cramped bucket seat. The slap and the accusation that followed left him reeling. Part of him knew he deserved it. He probably deserved worse. Another part was so livid he felt like slapping her back. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and clenched his teeth, trying to stay still and do nothing.

After a while, Olivia broke the silence between them when her tears turned to choking sobs. The sound of his partner sobbing out of control finally broke down Elliot's reserve. Without thinking about it, he reached over the console and put his arm around Olivia. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but she didn't push him away. Elliot untucked one side of his unbuttoned shirt, checked that it wasn't bloody, and leaned over to wipe Olivia's face. She grabbed the shirttail and blew her nose into it, then immediately looked up and blushed.

"Sorry," she said, still sniffling. "There should be tissues in the glove compartment."

Elliot stretched his right hand toward the glove compartment latch, keeping his left arm around Olivia. He fished around, pulled out an opened package of Kleenex, and gave them to her. She blew her nose a few more times, then wadded up the tissues and put them in a small leather garbage bag hanging from the gear shift. She sighed and wiped her face with her hands.

"Thank you. Not just for the tissues. Thank you for staying."

Elliot looked at her, confused.

"You could have left when I slapped your face."

"You're right. I could have. But I think I had it coming. Do you feel any better now?" he asked, his anger replaced with the sort of caring he felt for his children. Or Kathy. Years ago.

"Actually, I do feel better," Olivia answered. She sounded better as well.

Elliot was afraid to ask any serious questions. He didn't want to send Olivia off again. So he asked her something that had been puzzling him while she was crying.

"It's way too early for morning sickness. What made you even think of taking a pregnancy test?"

Olivia smiled slightly. "You won't believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

"Last night I dreamed I was pregnant."

"Was it a good dream, or a nightmare? I could see it going either way."

"Actually," Olivia said, "it was probably the best dream I've ever had."

Elliot stared at her, waiting to see if she'd say more.

"I dreamed there was a ball of light inside me, shining so hard my entire body glowed." She paused. "I'm afraid you're going to think I'm crazy," she said.

"I won't," Elliot promised. "Tell me."

"She talked to me."

"What?"

"My baby. She talked to me."

Elliot paused. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask.

"What did she say?"

"Ripping stones make deep waves."

"Don't you mean skipping stones?"

"No. It was definitely 'ripping stones.' I know it sounds strange, but that's what she said." Olivia sounded peaceful, as if she were not only remembering the dream, but re-living it.

"What do you think it means?" Elliot asked,

"I think it's pretty obvious," Olivia said, shrugging away from Elliot's arm around her shoulder.

Elliot sighed. "Ok. It means you were the product of a rape, and now you're pregnant with the product of a rape. I ripped you open and turned your life into a tsunami. Am I right?"

"Half right," Olivia answered. "You got the first part, but the wave was deep, not dangerous."

"Does that mean I'm not dangerous?" Elliot asked. Dream interpretation and allegory were not his style, and he was beginning to feel lost.

"You are to a perp," Olivia said.

"Very funny. Am I dangerous to you?" he asked.

"Yes and no."

"Liv, I love you, but I'm getting really sick of this," Elliot responded. "One minute you're furious at me, then you're sweet, then you're totally incomprehensible. Just tell me how you feel."

"You just said you love me."

"Yeah. I do. But I have no idea how you feel about me. Do you love me? Do you want to have our baby? Do you still want to be partners?"

"Do you think we'd be having this conversation if I didn't?" Olivia replied.

"Good," said Elliot. "Then quit switching back and forth between angry and loving every five minutes. It's driving me crazy. I had enough of that from Kathy. I don't need any more from you."

"Somehow I expected this would be more romantic," Olivia said. Her voice sounded sarcastic but Elliot saw hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "I know I was a prick. I apologize. Again. But if we're going to get through this, you to have to forgive me. I understand if you can't. I can put in for a transfer tomorrow, and I'll send you as much money as I can. But--"

Olivia reached up and put her hand over Elliot's mouth.

"Shhh," she said. "It's ok. I forgive you."

Elliot took Olivia's hand from his face and held it in his lap.

"Are you sure? You sounded pretty angry a few minutes ago."

Olivia sighed. "Elliot, I love you. I forgive you. I can't promise you I'll never get angry at you again, but I'll try to be more reasonable. Besides, I'm pregnant. You of all people should know that pregnant women tend to get pretty emotional."

Elliot smiled and hugged Olivia as best he could in a stick shift car. He gasped in pain for a second when he smacked his left hand on the driver's side window. Then Olivia started nibbling his neck and stroking his pants, and he gasped again for an entirely different reason.

7


	6. Chapter 6

"What's wrong?" Olivia asked. As she tried to open Elliot's fly, she realized there was no reason to continue.

Elliot sighed. "Nothing," he replied. "I've had a really long day. I'm exhausted. Can you just drive me home?"

"Fine," Olivia said, taking her hand off Elliot and fishing for her car keys. At least her car responded as she expected it to. She turned the keys in the ignition, the car, started, and it didn't stall out. She turned the radio to a classic rock station and turned up the volume, eliminating the need for conversation. She glanced over toward Elliot and saw him leaning back with his crossed across his chest. She wondered if he'd been born that way. By the time they arrived at his apartment, twenty minutes later, Olivia was shaking him awake.

"You ok?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Elliot responded.

"You don't look fine. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Elliot repeated. "I'm really tired. I just want a shower and some sleep." He paused. "About what happened in the garage," he muttered. "That's never happened to me before," he said. "Guess I don't find hospital garages sexy," he added.

You did at first, Olivia thought, but she kept quiet.

"Don't worry about it," she said, trying to keep the disappointment and frustration out of her voice. "I know you've had a rough week." So have I, she thought, but again kept her thoughts to herself.

Elliot started the awkward process of unbuckling his seatbelt with his left hand. Olivia noticed his grimace.

"Want some help?" she asked, leaning over towards him.

"I'm fine!" Elliot snapped.

Olivia drew in a deep breath and kept her silence. She was trying to make allowances for Elliot's pain and embarrassment, but she was starting to feel angry on her own behalf, as well. He finally released the latch and opened the door.

"See you tomorrow," he said, starting to climb out of the car.

"You're coming to work tomorrow? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Olivia asked.

Elliot sighed. "See you tomorrow, Liv," he answered, and leaned back into the car to kiss Olivia lightly on the cheek. Olivia watched him shut the car door and disappear into the apartment building. For such a straightforward guy, she thought, he can be pretty damn complicated. She'd been hoping to spend the night, but if Elliot could sleep off his bad mood, she was all for it.

o o o o o o o o o o

As soon as Elliot got home, he shrugged out of his jacket, dropped it on the floor, and, after a couple of unpleasant minutes, managed to get out of the rest of his clothing. He left his clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor and headed toward the bathroom.

The first thing Elliot did was open the medicine cabinet and take out a bottle of Advil. He almost cried out in pain as he absentmindedly tried to open it with his left hand. "Fucking childproof tops," he muttered. He tried holding the bottle with his left hand, but it kept he kept dropping it. Finally he put the bottle in his mouth and after a lengthy struggle managed to get the top off with his teeth. He swallowed a couple of pills and turned on the water.

Elliot had been so eager for a shower, he hadn't stopped to consider how difficult it would be. He figured out immediately that he should have thought to remove his bandages first, and then realized that removing sopping wet gauze with extremely painful hands was not a pleasant process. He was pleased to find that the cuts were pretty much healed. The water barely stung. The pain must be internal, he thought, not knowing if that was god or bad. He didn't care. The hot water felt wonderful. He had a hard time keeping the soap from slipping out of his hands, but he eventually emerged clean, if not exactly refreshed.

Toweling dry proved almost as annoying as undressing and washing. He decided that damp was good enough. Now might be a good time to grow a beard, he thought, glancing at his razor and immediately thinking better of it.

Elliot was astounded when he walked into the bedroom and saw that the window had been repaired, the floor had been vacuumed, and night table returned to its rightful position. He turned on the bedside lamp, and realized that someone had even replaced the light bulb. He'd have to find out who to thank when he returned to work tomorrow. In fact, he'd have to thank everyone for having visited him, even if he didn't remember them coming.

Elliot's left hand was throbbing so painfully that he had trouble setting the alarm clock. He gave up in frustration, trusted himself to get up on time, and crawled under the covers, thankful to be in his own bed, knowing that no one would wake him up in four hours to confirm he hadn't died. Although he wished that he could ask a nurse for some painkillers. The Advil he'd gone through such an order to take wasn't doing anything. He wondered if there was a prescription for pain pills in the packet of discharge papers he'd shoved in his jacket pocket in his rush to find Olivia. Olivia. Not a topic he wanted to think about. Elliot realized that there was something wrong with his telling his partner he loved her and wanted their baby, and then wanting nothing more than to push all thoughts of her out of his mind. But he was too tired and in too much pain to worry about it. He pulled the quilt up to his chin, rolled over onto his side, and fell into a deep sleep.

Elliot's internal alarm clock woke him up on time, but every step of getting ready for work, from brushing his teeth to tying his shoelaces, took twice as long as usual. Driving to work would have been excruciating if he'd driven a stick shift. Instead, it was merely extremely painful. Fortunately, he'd found a prescription for strong painkillers with his discharge papers. He filled it on the way to work. The label said to take one to two pills every four to six hours. He asked the pharmacist for a non-childproof top, opened the bottle with his teeth again, and swallowed three pills in the pharmacy. By the time he got to the precinct room, he was in a foul mood and wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back home before anyone saw him. But he wasn't about to do that. He tried to force a grimace into a smile and sat down at his desk.

"The prodigal son returns," said Munch, walking over to Elliot with a cup of coffee.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and smiled cautiously.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a casual tone of voice. Elliot turned toward her and nodded, grateful that she was acting as if nothing had happened between them.

"Much better," he lied, picking up his coffee with both hands and taking a sip. "Thanks," he said, looking at Munch. "Thanks for visiting me, too," he added, moving his head to nod to include Fin as well. "And for fixing up my place."

"No problem," Fin said. "You look like shit. Sure the doc told you to come in today?" he asked.

"Elliot!" a loud voice boomed as Cragen walked out of his office. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Glad you're all so happy to see me," Elliot said. He took another large drink of coffee and carefully set the paper cup down on his desk, afraid he might drop it. Even with the painkillers, his left hand was throbbing and his right hand wasn't back to normal yet either.

"No way I'm letting you out in the field like that," Cragen said, looking pointedly at Elliot's left hand.

"I'll do deskwork for a couple days till I'm better," Elliot answered.

"You can do deskwork when you can hold a cup of coffee without spilling it," Cragen barked.

"With all due respect, Captain, I really want to start working now."

"You'll start working when you're ready to work," Cragen replied. "Take the rest of the week off and I'll see you on Monday. And Stabler," he added over his shoulder, as he walked back to his office to answer the phone. "We're all glad you pulled through."

Elliot frowned and got up to leave. He suddenly felt faint, and instinctively put his hand on his desk to stabilize himself. The weight of his body on his hands was so painful he nearly passed out. Oddly enough, however, it didn't seem to bother him that much.

"Are you ok?" Olivia asked. She sounded very concerned, but Elliot didn't really care if it was "partner" concern or "more than partner" concern. In fact, he didn't really care much about anything. In fact, he felt almost giddy. If Cragen wanted him out till Monday, fine, he'd come back Monday. He leaned against his desk for a moment to make sure he was all right, then walked out of the squad room.

Olivia followed him out.

"Are you sure you can make it home?" she asked. "You looked like you were about to faint."

"Stop worrying about me," Elliot said. "I feel fine."

"Benson, get back in here," Cragen called. "I need to talk to you."

Olivia gave Elliot a long, hard look, then turned around and walked back into the squad room.

Elliot walked down the steps of One Police Plaza, slightly unsteady on his feet, barely noticing the rain dripping down his face and into his eyes. It took him a minute to remember where he'd parked his car. He finally found it, cranked the radio up loud, and drove home. For the first time since he'd moved out, he didn't mind coming home to his dark and depressing apartment. He took a beer from the fridge, set it on the kitchen counter, and used his right hand to open it with his pocket knife. He took the beer into the bedroom, lay down, and turned on the small TV he'd bought to watch sports and news. He channel surfed till he found a game, took a large swig of beer, and nodded off while the TV recounted play by plays.


End file.
